Jack Sheppard eBook

The room in which she sat was a portion of the garret,
assigned, as we have just stated, by Mr. Wood as a
play-room to the two boys; and, like most boy’s
playrooms, it exhibited a total absence of order, or
neatness. Things were thrown here and there, to
be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose;
while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore
the marks of many a conflict. The characters of
the youthful occupants of the room might be detected
in every article it contained. Darell’s
peculiar bent of mind was exemplified in a rusty broadsword,
a tall grenadier’s cap, a musket without lock
or ramrod, a belt and cartouch-box, with other matters
evincing a decided military taste. Among his
books, Plutarch’s Lives, and the Histories of
Great Commanders, appeared to have been frequently
consulted; but the dust had gathered thickly upon
the Carpenter’s Manual, and a Treatise on Trigonometry
and Geometry. Beneath the shelf, containing these
books, hung the fine old ballad of ‘St. George
for England’ and a loyal ditty, then much
in vogue, called ’True Protestant Gratitude,
or, Britain’s Thanksgiving for the First of
August, Being the Day of His Majesty’s Happy
Accession to the Throne.’ Jack Sheppard’s
library consisted of a few ragged and well-thumbed
volumes abstracted from the tremendous chronicles
bequeathed to the world by those Froissarts and Holinsheds
of crime—­the Ordinaries of Newgate.
His vocal collection comprised a couple of flash songs
pasted against the wall, entitled ‘The Thief-Catcher’s
Prophecy,’ and the ’Life and Death
of the Darkman’s Budge;’ while his
extraordinary mechanical skill was displayed in what
he termed (Jack had a supreme contempt for orthography,)
a ‘Moddle of his Ma^{s}. Jale off Newgate;’
another model of the pillory at Fleet Bridge; and
a third of the permanent gibbet at Tyburn. The
latter specimen, of his workmanship was adorned with
a little scarecrow figure, intended to represent a
housebreaking chimney-sweeper of the time, described
in Sheppard’s own hand-writing, as ‘Jack
Hall a-hanging.’ We must not omit to
mention that a family group from the pencil of little
Winifred, representing Mr. and Mrs. Wood in very characteristic
attitudes, occupied a prominent place on the walls.

For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl
through the half-opened door in silence. On a
sudden, a change came over her countenance, which,
up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied
expression. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched
up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—­“It
isn’t at all like him! it isn’t half handsome
enough!” was about to efface the sketch, when
Thames darted into the room.

“Who isn’t it like?” he asked, endeavouring
to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound
of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers.

“I can’t tell you!” she replied,
blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as
tightly as possible; “it’s a secret!”